


The Song of The Mockingbird

by Mrs_Pepperpot



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Mentor/Protégé, Older Man/Younger Woman, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Pepperpot/pseuds/Mrs_Pepperpot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shall we go?" Sansa Stark is ready to follow where Lord Baelish leads. She thinks she knows what he wants, and he wants everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Song of The Mockingbird

**Author's Note:**

> Is it wrong to ship Littlefinger/Sansa? Maybe, in a world where fans didn't feel compelled to root for particular character pairings, no matter how weird they might be. But, as Littlefinger might say, we don't live in that world. It is a creepy ship, but I love the TV scenes between Sansa and Petyr.
> 
> This short one-shot is how I imagine their last scene together in season 4's The Mountain and The Viper would continue.
> 
> I am basing my characterisation etc on the Game of Thrones TV versions of the characters, rather than as they are in the books.
> 
> I do not own anything, and I mean no disrespect to the great George R.R. Martin, especially as I hear he is not fond of fanfiction. There is no substitute for the real thing, and I'm just a fan paying homage in my own way.

The Song of The Mockingbird

**" _Shall we go?"_**

Sansa Stark was a surprising thing, after all. He glimpsed it during her performance before the lords and lady in the Eyrie, and now here she was, finally ready to be a player. Pawns could be useful, if all too easily lost or surrendered. If you wanted to stay in the game you had to advance, and become something more. The Queen may be the most powerful piece on a chessboard, but it can still be sacrificed for the win. Perhaps being a mentor would be fun, Lord Baelish pondered. His necessarily cautious nature prevented him from revealing too much of the side of himself he'd allowed Sansa to witness. Even with her, and their new found understanding, he would be on constant guard. She thought she knew what he wanted, and he was content to let her go on making her own assumptions.

"Where are we going first, Uncle Petyr?"

Robin Arryn was a trusting malleable boy, and mostly amiable without his mother's constant coddling. He was a pawn, in the end, to be shuffled around the board until he might be traded for maximum advantage.

"We must visit all the lords and ladies of the Vale, they need to see you. If you're going to rule over a land, any land, you need friends and you don't make friends by placing yourself out of reach," Baelish counselled.

"But how do you know who you can trust?" The boy inquired.

Perhaps he wasn't as dull as he seemed, Petyr smiled.

Sansa was watching him closely, and trying to pretend she wasn't.

"It isn't essential to trust a friend. It's a good thing if you can, but understanding them is more important. If you know who they are and what they want, you can usually predict what they'll do. Most people will pledge loyalty to those who bring them the greatest advantage. They will also be the ones most likely switch their allegiance in times of trouble. Trust yourself first and foremost, and your own instincts. If they steer you wrong then at least you've no one else to blame, and if they don't… Friends are all well and good, but never forget, it is yourself in whom you need to keep faith," he said.

They continued in silence for a while until Sansa reached out to touch the sigil pin on his cloak.

"Why a mockingbird? Don't they just steal the songs of other birds?" She questioned.

Lord Baelish broke into a half-grin.

"They mimic the songs of other birds, and even frogs and toads, which makes them rather clever, don't you think?"

She raised one of her eyebrows, as a sign of interest.

"Do you know the only creature that can tell the difference between a male mockingbird mimicking and the real birdsong?" He inquired.

Sansa spent a long moment in contemplation and then shook her head.

"A female mockingbird," Baelish replied with a grin.

"But my lady, you asked me why I chose that particular bird for my sigil. Would you like to guess?"

She wanted to come up with an answer that would impress him and so she gave it serious thought.

"If you mock a person you make fun of them, as you do when you mimic someone. But I don't think it would be wise for anyone to take you for a fool," Sansa met his studious gaze.

Petyr nodded.

"I've been mocked many times in my life, and people have underestimated me at their peril. I wear this mockingbird with pride, and as a reminder, maybe even as a warning for those who are wise enough to heed it," he said.

She understood.

They made their way over rocky terrain and Lord Baelish held his hand out to offer assistance. Sansa didn't take it.

"Mourning dress becomes you, my lady," he observed as she hitched her skirt slightly to step over an obstacle on the path.

"You seem more content to be a widow than a bride, but maybe you'll have better luck next time."

She looked to make sure Robin was out of earshot.

"Maybe you will too," she pressed her lips together to prevent a smirk.

Petyr came up close beside her to whisper into her ear.

"Husbands and wives are easily got, and can just as easily be got rid of, that is surely one lesson you have learnt well by now."

"Do you think they've executed him yet?" Sansa hesitantly inquired, as she thought of the man she was forced to marry.

"Would you care?" Petyr was incredulous.

She gave the appearance of someone whose conscience was troubled, and Baelish was disappointed. He thought her tender heart might have sufficiently hardened by now, especially in regard to a Lannister.

"He was never unkind to me," she declared.

"Was his refusal to share the marital bed one of his kindnesses?" He sneered.

"He said he'd wait until I was ready," Sansa was grateful to Tyrion for that.

"He was no Ser Loras Tyrell, that is for sure," Baelish pointedly remarked.

She blushed, and missed the deeper implication of his words.

Robin waited for them to catch up as Lord Yohn Royce's seat Runestone loomed into view.

"I'm hungry, Uncle Petyr, I do hope they have prepared us a good feast," the boy grumbled.

"I'm sure our friend will make us most comfortable," Lord Baelish was irked by the spoilt child, but didn't show it.

Robin smiled and ran on ahead, leaving his two companions to continue their verbal parries. It wasn't much of a contest yet, but Sansa was learning, and she'd had other teachers besides him.

"Are you afraid of dying?" She asked out of the blue.

Petyr let out a snort of derision.

"Only a fool fears something he cannot avoid."

Sansa threw him a sceptical look.

"Have you ever heard the phrase, Valar morghulis?" He inquired.

She shook her head.

"It means, all men must die, and you, my lady, have seen enough of death in your short life not to doubt it," Baelish was happy discussing the mortality of others, but was more superstitious when it came to talking about his own.

Sansa became lost in thoughts of her family, for all she knew, she was the only one left.

"What went through your mind as you watched Joffrey die?" Petyr was denied the pleasure of seeing for himself, although his imagination often played out a good likeness of the scene.

She stilled for a moment, her face an unreadable mask.

"When Joffrey made me go up onto the city walls and look at my father's head on that pike, I wanted to push him to his death. It was the Hound who stopped me, and I couldn't be grateful for his intervention, until I watched Joffrey fighting for his last breath," a small smile crept over her lips. "My father always said you shouldn't rejoice at the death of your enemies," she recalled, wondering if in this case, he would have made an exception.

Baelish pursed his lips and then smiled.

"It is perhaps in poor taste to rejoice, outwardly at least, but who would deny the private pleasures?"

Sansa stumbled slightly on a crumbling rock. She fell only as far as Petyr's waiting arms.

"Let us not waste our time speaking of death, let's focus on our lives and what we can make of them," he held her fast against him as he spoke.

Her clear blue eyes met his steely ones.

"You said you wanted everything," Sansa wondered how far up she was on his list.

Baelish released her from his grasp. He knew what she was thinking. Instant gratification would come at too high a cost, and necessity required it to be delayed. His will was strong as iron.

"I'm a patient man," he said.

They made their way down the path that led to Runestone.

A bird in a nearby tree began to sing.

"If you want to be a good mimic you must first learn the song by heart," Petyr counselled.

"The slightest mistake will give you away."

Sansa smiled.

"You said, only the female mockingbird can tell the difference. You also once told me that I was a bad liar. Maybe I'd do better to learn the songs so I can spot the mistakes, rather than try to sing them myself," she pondered.

Lord Baelish nodded his approval and held out his hand to her. She took it.

 

**THE END.**

 


End file.
